


Deer in Headlights

by wifidelis



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor's Death Was Something Else, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Charlie is Nosy, Death, Get Ready to See Alastor Have a Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifidelis/pseuds/wifidelis
Summary: Charlie digs too deep into understanding Alastor, and finds out how he died.Alastor doesn't handle this relevation well. At all.
Relationships: Charlie Magne/Vaggie, but not really present here as much
Comments: 22
Kudos: 450





	Deer in Headlights

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy my self-indulgent watching Alastor lose control bullshit. I wanted it written, and so I wrote it. Please enjoy!

“This is a terrible idea.”

“But it’s an idea,” Charlie murmured, knowing full well this was indeed a terrible idea and Vaggie was 100% right about  _ why  _ it was a terrible idea. The two sat cross legged in the archives of the palace, a flashlight cutting through the red haze of the candlelight. Vaggie sighed, relenting to Charlie’s bullheaded optimism once again as she hauled over another box of files.

Vaggie adjusted the flashlight, illuminating the names within the box. She watched as Charlie’s quick fingers skimmed names, biting her tongue between sharp teeth. The one-eyed demon rested her head on Charlie’s shoulder. She felt her girlfriend’s fingers lace through her white hair, practically purring when she heard Charlie start humming to herself.

“Do you think Alastor was his human name, or did he change it?”

“Most demons take on new names once they’re here.”

“True…” Charlie murmured. “Maybe I should look by location of death?”

“I think we should just stop looking, y’know,  _ in general _ . No one here likes talking about how they died or who they were before, and I’m fully convinced Alastor especially wouldn’t like it. I mean, what if he finds out we’re looking, Charlie? He would gut us like fish.”

“I’m tired of being left in the dark by whatever it is he’s trying to do. Maybe it’s a violation of his trust, but I think it’s I bigger violation of mine when he shows up and destroys everything.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Well, we’re in Hell.”

With a groan that sounded more like a snarl, Vaggie resumed watching Charlie flip through the files. They sat in silence for a moment before Charlie suddenly moved, knocking Vaggie off her shoulder as she tore a death record out. She tossed it to the floor and threw it open, jaw dropping as Vaggie shone the flashlight over the paperwork inside.

“Holy fuck,” Vaggie breathed.

_ Alastor Roux. Died: October 14, 1933. Cause of Death: Cranial gunshot wound. _

“This is him,” Charlie pointed to the picture. “That’s his smile.”

Vaggie shuddered. Even as a human, Alastor looked terrifying. He possessed the same wide smile with more or less teeth with a half-lidded amber-eyed leer behind rectangular glasses. His hair was a duller shade of red, but with the red vest and black bow tie he sported in this image, it somehow seemed just as bright. His hair was shorter, missing his ear-like hair tufts, this time being slicked down with gel and combed back in a dapper fashion. Vaggie suspected to anyone, Alastor might have appeared to be a charmer, guessed young ladies would have fawned over him. But he still had that look in his eyes.

That look like he was trying to figure out the most entertaining way to flay you.

“New Orleans,” Charlie murmured. “No wonder he’s obsessed with food. But… it says he was a serial killer. He claimed… Wow.”

“Charlie?”

Charlie was even whiter than a sheet. “103 victims.”

Vaggie felt her mouth go dry. “Charlie, we’re going too far down the rabbit hole. We need to stop - you found the card, didn’t you?”

Charlie produced a small card from the file, clutching it tightly as she strode over to the computer that sat isolated between rows upon rows of file cabinets. She popped it into the hard drive, sitting down as the monitor buzzed to life. Vaggie quickly grabbed the file and darted over, setting it in front of Charlie as a sharp click and the burst of static brought them the image of-

_ -of Alastor sitting hunched over the desk of his radio booth, a white knuckled grip around a cup of tea. He looked crazed. His eyes were wide and he appeared pale, biting his lip. His foot tapped anxiously against his chair, glasses shoved up into his hair while one hand massaged his temple. He was staring down at a pile of papers beside his microphone with a look of absolute dismay on his face. And… he wasn’t smiling. _

Police closing in on Red Knife Killer. Witnesses say…

_ His complex expression all but evaporated when the door to his booth opened. Alastor turned in his chair, an idle smile and bored expression replacing the anxiety that had been present on his face not one second ago. _

_ “Mr. Roux, we’re on the air in one minute.” _

_ “Excellent, thank you Marianne. Are these all the stories for today?” _

_ “Yes, Mr. Roux. Is there anything else I could get you in the meantime?” _

_ “No, my dear. Thank you for the tea. Please, return to your work.” _

_ “Of course, sir.” _

_ Alastor watched as she walked out the door, settling his glasses back on his nose. A deep breath later and a cup of tea, and Alastor had organized the notes for this morning’s news. He forced the shaking out of his hands and cleared his throat as the show began. _

_ “Good morning, New Orleans! Welcome back to your source for news and entertainment with I, your host, Alastor Roux! Unfortunately, I will have to cut today’s show a tad bit short, so let’s cut right to the chase. Today’s weather will be rainy, though it will be hot and humid. But what else is new? After all, this is New Orleans! Ah, but I digress! The news for today, dear listeners, will hopefully lift your spirits!” _

_ Alastor took a deep breath, clutching the edges of the paper a little tighter than usual. The edges creased and crumbled under his grip, and he found his stomach flipping. _

_ “It seems our fine police force has begun to close in on the infamous Red Knife Killer. As you all know, this dastardly fellow has claimed the lives of far too many of our fellow neighbors. Police claim that a piece of torn fabric and weapon left at the scene of the latest crime three weeks ago are assisting in their search tremendously. Let’s all wish them luck in their search so that our community may once again know peace!” _

_ He exhaled, moving the paper to the side. Glancing down, the next stories were meaningless. He relayed them with the same air of grandeur his voice always possessed, trying not to rush through too obviously. Though when he had finally set the last story aside, his pace abruptly quickened. _

_ “Ah, that seems to be all I have for you today dear listeners. As I said, I must end slightly earlier than usual today. I promised my mother after a day of errands that I’d help her in the endeavor of making jambalaya tonight, and I’d hate to disappoint her. Thusly, this is your host, Alastor Roux, signing off for today. I will see you tomorrow, dear listeners! Until then, stay tuned.” _

_ A quick buzz signaled the show had ended. He stood up quickly, quickly enough to remind himself to slow down. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, choosing to chalk up the sweat running down his back to the heat infiltrating the building. He bid farewell to his station manager and dear Marianne at the front desk, and found himself speed walking down the streets for his home. _

It’s been too long,  _ his thoughts rattled around his skull like bees.  _ It’s a necessary evil. Sometimes, one must be patient and have a little self control…

_ Oh, who was he kidding? Every inch of him was screaming for a kill, but with the police so doggedly on his tail… He’d had to slow down. He was frustrated. Agonizingly and utterly frustrated. In seven years, they’d never once managed to pin him down. But of course, he’d slip up at some point. One of his victims had struggled. He’d tried to mug Alastor on his way home from work, and Alastor, starved of a kill, decided to act. Act, except the fucker managed to injure him and cause Alastor to leave behind evidence while he sprinted to his house and did questionable first aid on himself. _

_ He was nearly beside himself when he unlocked his house door, slamming it shut behind him. Alastor tossed his bag to the side, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. _

_ His smile hurt his cheeks as he opened the spare bedroom door, immediately greeted with a started yelp. Alastor kicked the door shut behind him, grabbing a knife with a little too much enthusiasm. He waltzed over to the man chained and bound to the bed with a skip in his step, tilting his head while the man flinched away from him like a wounded animal. _

_ “P-please… I won’t tell anyone-” _

_ “Ah, yes you will, you imbecile,” Alastor tapped the knife to his cheek. “I understand fully well how humans have an insatiable desire for revenge. However, fortunately for you, I am going to set you free regardless.” _

_ “You’re going to kill me?” _

_ Alastor all but cackled, and the familiar manically expression of his violent nature reared its ugly head. He was wheezing at the very end, shaking his head and waving the knife around like he was in a comedy club. _

_ “Oh nononononono. I’m going to torture you, and you will probably die of shock. Do make this entertaining for me, won’t you?” _

_ The knife came down, and Alastor’s favorite program began. _

* * *

“Charlie, stop. I don’t want to watch anymore.”

Charlie paused the video, shaking. “L… Let’s skip ahead.”

* * *

_ Alastor collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. He was slicked in blood up to the elbows, gore splattered across his front and face as well. He looked absolutely inhuman. His eyes were far too wide and his laugh far to diluted and quiet to resemble any ounce of humanity. Pupils blown out and knife pressed against his own throat, Alastor was high. The screams still rang in his ears, the guttural, bloody moans clinging to him like a ghost. _

_ He hadn’t felt such release in far too long. _

_ His mind was foggy when the knocks on the door began.  _

_ By the time he had realized what was going on, the police were already in his living room. The craving hadn’t left by the time he heard boots stomping about. He wanted more. He was drooling. Alastor stood. He snatched the shotgun where it was mounted on the wall. He cleaned his knife on his shirt. _

_ And he went to greet his unexpected guests. _

_ He crossed the threshold with a welcoming, utterly unnerving grin. Two officers turned, saw a beloved radio host covered in viscera, and drew their guns just a little too slowly. _

_ Alastor had fired before they had a weapon in their hand. _

_ The first officer went down as the shell ripped through his skull like paper. Alastor sighed dreamily as his head and skull and brains splattered his hardwood floors, ignoring the mess that was to be cleaned up later. The second officer jerked back as the shell hit him in the stomach, crumpling to the floor. Alastor was on him like a wolf, kicking the man onto his back away from his weapons. He slammed a dress shoe down on the wound, giggling as he the office let out a wet, guttural choked cry. _

_ “So, you found me,” Alastor’s voice was like honey and milk. “What was your plan, officer?” _

_ “You… bastard…” _

_ Alastor pressed down harder, eliciting another weak cry of agony. “Does anyone else know you’re here? If you won’t inform me, I have other means of gathering information.” _

_ The officer remained silent. Alastor knelt down, and stabbed him in the stomach, plunging the knife in until the hilt met flesh. The scream was music to his ears, singing a symphony only a select few composers could orchestrate. _

_ “Tell me your plan, officer.” _

_ When no reply came, he twisted. Alastor was giddy. He was in another plane of existence in moments like this, wiping away spit from his mouth where he was salivating. He twisted again, harder and harder and around and around until he got his answer. _

_ “They identified you… this morning… They’re gonna throw you in the chair, you sick fuck…” _

_ Sirens went off immediately. Alastor was fucked. He pulled the knife out and stabbed through the ribcage with a strength few would ever guess he possessed, pulling it out quickly as he stood. It was like a script. He had rehearsed it before, in his head. Alastor returned to his room and retrieved a bag, slinging it over his shoulders. He reloaded the shotgun, coming to terms with how absolutely and utterly fucked he was. He didn’t even have time to clean up the crime scene. He despised that. _

_ Alastor pulled his charm out of his dress shirt, throwing his bowtie to the floor. His mother once told him it was his fathers, that it was used to collect power. Alastor tightened his grip on it, hand shaking around the odd flower-sun like design. He allowed it to fall to his chest, and ran for the back door. _

_ It was raining, he realized. The dogs couldn’t track his scent this way. _

_ He ran into the forest behind his home, hands locked around the shotgun like his life certainly depended on it. _

_ … _

_ Alastor had lost time of how long he’d been running. It was twilight now, he knew that. He had collapsed against a tree, rain soaked and exhausted. His high was gone, now fueled only by sleep deprivation and the screaming nagging voices in his head of how badly he’d fucked up. He could survive in the wild. But they would find him eventually. He had faith in that. Alastor had been staring down the barrel of his shotgun for what seemed like an eternity now. _

_ He could get caught, stand trial, sentenced to death, and fried… or he could go out on his own terms. _

_ A small click resounded in the quiet as his forehead fell against the weapon. He hated this. Hated not being in control. He was panicking as his options went up in smoke. He had three, as far as he was aware. The electric chair, blowing his brains out, or running. With two resulting in certain death… _

_ Alastor stood. And in that moment, the breath was ripped out of his lungs when a bullet lodged itself in his ribs. _

_ He collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound as adrenaline flooded his veins once more. Barking filled the silence. _

Dogs,  _ he thought.  _ Fitting.

_ He saw a bloodhound burst through the underbrush as his vision swam, unable to raise the gun in time when the hound tackled him, sinking teeth into his throat before ripping out. Alastor choked, blood pooling in his throat, spitting out mixed with blood and saliva as the fucker bit into his shoulder. He managed to swing the knife, catching it square in the head. It went down with a whine and a yelp as Alastor rolled onto his back, clutching the hole in his neck. _

_ He tried to raise the shotgun. He couldn’t. _

_ Terror flooded his blood like ice. He could feel death creeping into his body as cold hands caressed his face, his vision black and faded around the edges. He saw faces, black faces, watching him from afar, their eyes lit up like neon signs. He whimpered. It was all he could do to wait and bleed his life out. _

_ Another rustling in the underbrush. Boots? _

_ “Holy fuck-” _

_ Ah. The hunter. _

_ His eyes flicked up. Without his glasses and the impending death clouding his vision, he could scarcely see his killer. A low growl trickled out of his bleeding throat as animosity turned what little of his sight that remained red. _

_ “Wait, you’re… you’re that guy. The radio host serial killer.” _

That would be me,  _ he thought wistfully. Serial killer, eh? He hadn’t even stopped to consider it. _

_ “Y’know, my wife and kids loved your program. Woke up every morning at 8 am to listen. Never understood why. You were always a charming fucker.” _

Could you stop prattling on?

_ “Burn in hell, bastard.” _

_ Alastor closed his eyes as the cold metal pressed down numbly between his eyes. Terror abandoned him, replaced with a self-loathing of his own failure that would consume him beyond death. _

_ “Dear sir…” he choked out, gargling by blood. “I daresay I’ll rule it.” _

Gunshot. Silence.

* * *

Charlie and Vaggie were silent. Neither quite knew what to say until the smaller demon removed the card, placed it back into the folder. Vaggie placed the box back where it belonged and turned to Charlie.

“Let’s go.”

Charlie stood and took Vaggie’s hand. She buried her face in soft white hair, throwing her arms around her neck. Vaggie kissed her cheek, knowing there was no need to chastise Charlie. The look on the princess’ face said it all.

* * *

Charlie knew she had to face Alastor at one point. What she hadn’t expected, however, was for him to be waiting in her office at the hotel when she returned. When the door clicked shut behind her, her desk chair swiveled around, revealing the lanky, deer-like visage of none other than the Radio Demon, ever smiling as he sipped a cup of tea.

“Charlotte, my dear! Welcome back. I commandeered your office in your absence to escape Angel. I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.”

Her mouth opened once, twice, and snapped shut. There were times she absolutely had no idea how to handle Alastor, but this set of circumstances took the cake. Alastor raised an eyebrow, smile still on, as he took a sip of tea. 

“Charlie? Are you in there?”

She jerked herself out of her thoughts and tried to get her act together, but she was not a good liar. Like Katie Killjoy said, she was the Disney fucking Princess that went to Hell. Charlie put her face in her hands as she heard Alastor stand, the quiet click of his dress shoes across the floors sending waves of anxiety down her spine with every step.

_ “You can’t tell him, Charlie,” Vaggie gripped her shoulders. _

She felt his cane tap the underside of her chin as he raised it up to make eye contact with him. His smile had… softened, if that was possible. It was less toothy and more neutral, an eyebrow still raised. If Alastor could feel concerned for anything, Charlie supposed she was looking at that expression on his face.

“Are you alright, dear? You appear anxious.”

Oh dear fuck she couldn’t stop it.

“I’m sorry!”

He looked genuinely confused, his smile shrinking. Charlie could see him racking his brain for any transgression she might’ve done, and when his eyes set in that certain  _ way  _ where he was drilling into her like a knife, she froze.

“Did you take my tea?”

Charlie couldn’t help it. She let out the most obscene nervous laugh she couldn’t possibly mustered up. Alastor blinked in confusion as Charlie wiped tears out of her eyes, his own narrowed as he kept searching.

“My dear, I cannot fathom what you’ve done to anger me. You’ll have to explain.”

_ “You can’t tell him-” _

“I went through the death archives and found your file because I don’t like being left in the dark and saw how you died and I’m sorry - A-al?”

It was like watching glass shatter. She watched for the first time as Al’s smile set into a straight line, watched as his teeth ground together, watched as the darkness and shadows that grew around him exploded in runes she didn’t understand, watched as his antlers started to grow and his eyes ticked into radio meters and the static was exploding around them and then -

It all vanished.

Alastor walked right past her and out the door.

Charlie blinked in confusion and ran after him.

“Alastor-”

He disappeared into his office and slammed the door shut, but before he could lock it, she shoved herself inside. She yelped as it fell open, tripping forward before falling to a heap on the floor. She groaned and pushed herself up, finding herself staring right at his shoes. Charlie followed her gaze up to find violently red eyes glowing with animosity, a ball of ice settling in her stomach when she fully recognized the intent to kill growing in his eyes. But he still walked away from her, soundless. Even the static that followed him like a ghost had gone quiet.

“Al-”

“Silence yourself before I do it for you.”

Her jaw snapped shut as Alastor’s cane went up in smoke and he collapsed into an armchair. The Radio Demon ran fingers through his hair as she sat up, and for a brief second she saw it. A small red X between Alastor’s eyes, marking where he had been shot.

“If you keep gawking, I’ll remove your eyes as well.”

She looked away. Charlie knew she should leave, but-

“I’m sorry,” tears were gathering in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it. I wanted to know why you were doing this, and-”

“How I perished has nothing to do with why I am helping you on your useless, fool hearted endeavor,” his voice was colder than the ninth circle. “I am sitting here right now, pondering what to do with you. Harming you in any fashion would only incite your father’s rage, and I have no intention of dying again.”

“I-”

He laughed, slapping his cheeks as he slumped back. “Well, are you happy, my dear? Was the grisly account of my death what you truly desired? Are you pleased with what you’ve unearthed?”

“I know I was wrong. But you can’t keep leaving me in the dark about everything.”

He let out a high pitched giggle as his head tilted, eyes narrowed into slits. “My dear, I can do  _ whatever the hell I want _ . Surely you recall my last words?”

_ I daresay I’ll rule it. _

“That can’t be it.”

He closed his eyes with the soft click of a radio turning off. Charlie closed the door softly, electing to remain seated on the floor as Alastor let out a long sigh, opening one eye to leer down at her. His lack of a smile was more unnerving than the ones he constantly wore.

“I despise the way I died. The…” a snarl escaped his throat. Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to smile and utterly failing. The X between his eyes glowed faintly with the red of his eyes, white noise taking over the radio static. Charlie had not moved from where she sat, and neither had he. She watched as his smile faltered once more and he held his face in his hands as the white noise popped and disappeared, leaving them in perfect silence.

“... Is that why you like to be in control?”

Alastor peered between his fingers before shaking his head. “I don’t need to explain myself to  _ you  _ of all demons.”

Charlie flinched, watching Alastor’s eyes freeze over as he stood, bones popping before wandering over to his desk, fingers listlessly tracing the ornate patterns in the wooden edges. He eventually tossed himself down in his chair, summoning his microphone and placing it against the side. She stood and took a step closer, freezing immediately.

It was like a string had been snapped. Alastor’s aura all but exploded, runes flying out around him as his eyes ticked back into dials, springing to his feet as his horns grew like tree branches, warped and ancient. His microphone shot out, pinning her against the door she had closed, a choked gasp escaping her throat as she clawed at the sentient staff. Alastor evaporated and appeared again, not even an inch away from her face as the noise exploded and his aura consumed them both, a clawed hand grabbing her wrist so tightly so was sure it would snap. Charlie couldn’t scream under his suffocating presence as his other hand grabbed her chin, slamming her neck to the side, lip slicing open when her own fang was jostled into the soft flesh.

“A-al-”

He abruptly dropped her, allowing her to crumple to the floor. Alastor reappeared back in his desk chair, slamming his fists onto the hardwood, knocking over a small cup of pens. Charlie raised her head to see his clawed finger tips digging into the mahogany, small grooves carved out as his arms dragged back to his body. His normal appearance slowly reappeared, horns and red chaos shrinking until nothing remained except Alastor’s white noise that was… speaking?

_ Controlcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolcontrolyourself _

She was on her feet, reaching out to him when Alastor abruptly shot up, hissing like a wounded animal. His eyes were crazed and alight like the neon signs seen across Hell, jolting away from her as far as he could.

_ “Don’t touch me.” _

Her hand dropped. Alastor bit his lip hard, his eyes going glassy as blood was drawn. Licking his lips, he reclined back, though his hands remained jittery and unsure as they folded over crossed legs.

A soft click and he was staring at his hands, watching as they shook.

“Charlotte. I do not have control over myself this very moment. You should leave.”

“I-”

“ _ Charlie, _ ” his tone was sharp, strained. “I’ve lost control of myself twice in the previous twenty minutes. Allow me to… ah.”

Alastor’s eyes ticked once, twice, turning fuzzy before the aura expanded again. He very quietly opened a desk drawer and produced a small knife, and without hesitation plunged it into his shoulder with a loud squelch. Charlie shouted and ran forward, only to be thrown to the side by an invisible force as Alastor twisted, shoving it in deeper with a moan. She watched in horror as black blood poured out from the wound, heavy and viscous as it slithered down the knife and darkened his suit jacket. A muffled groan escaped Alastor’s lips as he bit down, slumping over his desk as his aura faded and his eyes returned to normal, pulling out the knife with a satisfied grunt. She watched with wide eyes as the wound smoked and hissed, ruined, twisted flesh turning smooth without a scar. The only evidence of self-harm were rips through the cloth and the stain. Alastor brought the knife to his lips and kissed it, his tongue darting out over the blade as the blood disappeared off of it. He set it down and stood calmly, head tilting as his even gaze fell on the terrified princess.

“Now, why the long face my dear?” he beamed, showing every inch of dagger sharp teeth. “You know you’re never truly dressed without a smile!”

A switch had been flipped. Charlie watched as the fabric repaired itself, like the stains had never been there. Alastor was back on his bullshit, taking long, deliberate strides to her fallen form. He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. Charlie was shaking, which he didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Alastor, what… what the fuck?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You can’t just-” she was tripping over her words as she gestured vaguely to the discarded knife on his desk. “-just pretend that… That happened! All of that happened!”

“And what of it?”

“You… Are you… okay?” she whispered. Alastor blinked in amusement as he whirled about to shove the knife back in the desk drawer, coat tail whisking behind him. Charlie grabbed his arm, knowing full well that - that yep - he hurled her down on the floor with way too much force than he should be able to exert, effectively dazing her. His eyes betrayed his smile when he loomed over her; showing nothing but anxiety and nerves.

“You’re just not going to explain any of that?” she said flatly. He nodded in agreement.

“Okay, then I’m going to explain it,” she snapped, springing to her feet. Charlie jumped right up in his personal space, a startled burst of static confirming it. She had him pinned between herself and the edge of his desk, her own eyes turned red and bloody as Alastor’s eyes flickered away from hers, leaning as far back as he physically could bend.

“You need someone you can confide in because all the pressure of this ‘control’ fucks you over and turns you into something I know you’re not!”

She smiled as the utter bafflement knocked the smile right off his face, monocle slipping down his face as Alastor scoffed, fumbling for anything to rebuke that statement. As much as she hated to admit it, she cornered the Radio Demon. Alastor was at a loss for… well, anything.

“You need a friend.”

He was trying to slide a mask over his startled expression when Charlie leaned in closer. Alastor slid up on the top of his desk, scrambling away from her. The princess snorted and tilted her head, gesturing vaguely.

“When was the last time you had a friend?”

He seemed insulted. “My dear, I am an overlord. I don’t require such petty archetypes-”

“ _ Alastor. _ ”

His jaw snapped shut. Charlie couldn’t help but think she was looking at a deer in the headlights, delighting in the fact that she could see every gear in his head turning as he looked for an escape route. Alastor finally mustered his smile back, placing his monocle back in place as he cleared his throat.

“Why are you freaking out?”

“I am doing no such thing,” he snapped back childishly, glaring at her over the class circle, crossing his legs as he leaned on his staff.

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

She groaned, ready to slam her head against the wall. She never thought the fucking  _ Radio Demon  _ could be as immature as fucking Angel Dust. And from the shit eating smile he was radiating, he thought he was winning this debate. This very… three words or less debate.

_ Don’t take shit from other demons. _

“If you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, I’m telling my dad you threw me across the room.”

Alastor’s eyebrows set in a firm line at that threat. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Says the one going ‘am not’ in an argument!”

He looked at her with a neutral expression, raising an eyebrow. Charlie threw her hands up, earning a quiet laugh from him. She could throttle him right now, if she could even get close enough. This was going nowhere fast. Charlie rubbed her temples and turned around, ready to storm out the door when Alastor’s muted chuckle caught her attention.

“Ah, my dear, you are ever so entertaining.”

Needless to say, Charlie lost her temper.

Horns and brimstone rained down around her as Charlie whipped back around to face him, eyes bleeding and red and white as her horns sprouted, fangs bared in a snarl.

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, ALASTOR! I’M TRYING TO MAKE THINGS BETTER AND YOU’RE TREATING ME LIKE A SHOW ON TV!”

“Incorrect, the picture show is an obsolete form of entertainment. You are more like… a theatre performance.”

“Fucking Christ on a cross, go fuck yourself, Alastor. I’m sorry I watched how you died, I’m sorry you’re too much of a coward to show weakness, and I’m sorry for everything I’m saying right now in advance - oh, I made you mad again, didn’t I?”

His eye was twitching. She gulped.

“It was the coward comment, wasn’t it?”

The runes shimmering faintly in the background confirmed that was it. Alastor was ready to flay her. In a way, Charlie accepted her fate when, despite all odds, Alastor lost his temper in a completely human way.

“ _ You fucking twit _ ,” Alastor bared his teeth. “Imagine living the last  _ 10 years  _ of your miserable existence counting every breath in fear that one day you could be fried in a chair for urges you couldn’t  _ control _ -”

He snapped his jaw shut, fully aware he had said too much. Charlie could only stare, dumbfounded, as Alastor stared down at the floor, seeming amazed with himself that he had actually said what he did.

“... You can tell me, Alastor.”

His smile was weak when he looked up before he dropped his gaze. “... I’d prefer not to.”

“Then, could you when you’re ready…?”

There was silence for a long, long pause. Eventually, Alastor raised his head and she saw genuine exhaustion behind the lazy grin he was forcing.

“The past life is one I prefer not to recall.”

“Alastor, you’re barely 100. Those memories scar demons way older than you.”

He was quiet, aside from white noise. “... I do not think of them often. However, you have dredged them up with your idiotic escapade.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am aware,” his voice was lifeless. “As you’ve said seven times thus far.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why are you so desperate to understand me?”

Charlie frowned. “Because I don’t like not being in control either.”

The laugh track that played with his guffaw brought a smile to her face. Alastor wiped a tear from his eye as he coughed his breath, wheezing at the irony. He glanced up at her, his grin seeming slightly more genuine.

“You are very, very entertaining, darling.”

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely and utterly irate.”

Charlie sighed, running a hand through soft blonde hair. “Well. I can’t apologize an eighth time or I lose the lucky seven.  _ So _ , I’m going to leave before you destroy the hotel.”

He allowed her to turn around quietly, though she felt his eyes on her as she marched to the door, hellbent on escaping the possible onslaught of Alastor changing his mind and throwing her out the window. When her hand fell on the doorknob, she froze when his static burst to life again.

“Oh, Charlie?”

“Ah, yeah, Al?”

She turned to face him again. He was spinning his cane in a circle, watching in amusement as the sentient little monster grew dizzier and dizzier.

“Please refrain from telling anyone about my… outbursts.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Of course.”

She went to leave again when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked straight up to see Alastor shut the door over her, turning back around to return to his desk. Charlie followed him as he pulled paperwork out from his drawers, humming to himself as he snatched a pen from the pile he’d spilled earlier. He began thumbing through the stack, leaving her confused.

“Do you… want me to stay?”

“My pride will not allow me to confirm or deny,” he said quickly, placing the other pens back in their cup. Charlie rolled her eyes when he snapped, conjuring her own chair from her office next to his. Shaking her head, she crawled into it and rested her head against the plush leather, watching Alastor scribble his looping signature over documents.

She closed her eyes as a swing song began to play in the background. Charlie didn’t need to open them to know this was the song that played when Alastor was content, though she was more used to hearing it after he’d watched something suffer for extended periods of time. 

“Charlie?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

She opened one eye to see Alastor side eyeing her, his grin settled into a neutral line. She merely gave him her own smile, a spark of joy shooting off in her chest when he returned it without all the teeth and grandeur. His smile fell once he turned back to his paperwork, letting Charlie close her eyes and drift off to the swing music, her chest rising slowly as she passed out.

Alastor decided maybe this wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe one person… maybe one person didn’t always have to see his smile.


End file.
